In the days just before one marche militaire changed two worlds, Earth was weary of war, afraid of war, and desired to put behind it all reminders4 of war. The psychosociologists said uniforms of policemen, of postmen, of airline pilots, of lodge5 brethren, of theater ushers6, were militaristic, and they were abolished. The psychosociologists said the march rhythm in music was nationalistic and instigated7 combative8 feelings, and it was banned. The scenes, the sounds, the sights of antagonisms9 between men were forbidden.
The Polonaise, the Marseillaise, the March of the Toys, all suffered the same fate. Sousa's marches and Tschaikovsky's 1812 Overture10 went the same way. Dixie and the Hawaiian War Chant were treated alike. All were relegated11 to tape in dusty archives, and their sale or public performance forbidden on pain of fine and prison sentence.
Whatever unlawful violence there might be on faraway Mars, Earth was through with all forms of war and its trappings.
Into these circumstances, Cornel Lorensse intruded12 on the night of December 6, 2010. He pressed his thin face against the steam-misted window of The Avatar in Nuyork and saw a piano standing13 idle inside.
The Avatar was one of those small restaurants sunk a few feet below sidewalk level, which catered14 with exotic dishes to the tastes of a select group. It was well-populated at this hour, and Cornel licked his lips hungrily at the epicurean delights unveiled at each table.
He felt in the pocket of his worn coveralls. A single coin answered the exploration of his fingers. He was down to his last resource, and he was no nearer to finding the Friends than he had been when he landed.
He looked again at the piano, hesitated, then went down the three steps to the restaurant's door, pushed it open and went in. It was his good fortune that Wan15 Ti, owner of The Avatar was receiving his guests in person at the moment.
"I'll play you a concert for a meal," said Cornel, gesturing toward the piano.
Wan Ti's dark eyes swept over him, taking in the battered16 coveralls, the earnest face, the untrimmed blond hair, the slender hands. Wan Ti's yellow countenance17 remained bland18.
"I have a piano player," said Wan Ti.
Cornel laughed, with a note of desperation in his tone.
"Let me play one selection," he urged. "If you want to stop me then, you can kick me out."
What Wan Ti thought could not be gauged19 from his expression, but he had not built his clientele against fierce competition by turning his face away from the unusual. He inclined his head slightly, and waved Cornel to the piano.
Cornel sat down at the keyboard, brushed his hair back from his eyes, and flexed20 his long fingers. Thrusting the tantalizing21 aroma22 of food to the back of his mind, he played.
The murmur23 of conversation in The Avatar faltered24 and died as the fervid25 melody of Beethoven's Sonata26 Appassionata filled the air. It was unusual music to people accustomed to hearing the more modern compositions of Schonberg, Harris and Westine. The comparison of Cornel's inspired touch to the mechanical renditions of Wan Ti's regular piano player was noticeable even to those who were unfamiliar27 with music.
When the final movements of the allegro28 ma non troppo faded, Cornel sat back and looked toward Wan Ti. The proprietor29 cocked an ear toward the rare applause, smiled and nodded slightly. Exultantly30, Cornel swung into Chopin's Fantasie-Impromptu and followed it, not pausing, with Liszt's Waldesrauschen and Schubert's Serenade.
The applause was just as enthusiastic, but by now the hum of voices and the click of eating utensils31 had begun to rise again. Frowning slightly, Cornel hunched32 his shoulders and began a composition the most musical of his audience had never heard before.
Like the molten notes of the nightingale, the music floated and throbbed33 above the diners, almost a physical thing. The people in the restaurant paused with food halfway34 to their lips. They turned to see the artist, carefully, so that no chair would scrape. The waiters stopped with trays in their hands. Wan Ti stopped a newly arriving couple, his fingers at his lips.
In the midst of the applause that roared through the room when Cornel had finished, a waiter tapped his shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir," he said. "Miss Meta Erosine asks that you join her at her table."
Rising and bowing to his audience, Cornel followed the man to a table at the rear of the room, where a woman sat with her escort.
Meta Erosine's pale, heart-shaped face, with its mop of short black hair and luminous35 black eyes, was widely known on Earth, but Cornel had never been to Earth before. Her vibrant36 beauty blazed on a victim unprepared for it.
She was clad in the cretan-can-can style just then becoming popular, with breasts exposed over a tight bodice and a short, ruffled37 skirt gathered in front to reveal the knees. She smoked a long-stemmed, tiny-bowled pipe, studded with jewels.
Beside her sat a sleek38, mustached young man in ruffled lavender shirt and pink tights, his fingers covered with rings.
"Sit down and eat with me, musician," invited Meta. Somewhat dubiously39, Cornel took a seat at her right, across the table from the beruffled escort.
"Meta, I wish you wouldn't demean yourself by taking up with tramps and guttersnipes," objected her companion, wrinkling his nose.
"Leave me, Passo," she ordered, waving an imperious hand. "Why should I sup with painted popinjays when I can adore genius?"
Passo flushed and his mouth fell open. But he arose and slunk quietly away.
"Now, musician," said Meta, leaning over the table so that her powdered breasts brushed the glassware, "tell me, what was that last number you played?"
"One of my own compositions," he said diffidently. The odor of food was too much for him, and he leaned across the table to appropriate Passo's untouched salad. "Its name is Wind in the Canals."
"It should be Le Vent40 dans les Canals," she said. "You should title your compositions in French—they will be more fashionable."
She laughed, a laugh like the music of his playing.
"You will, my genius," she promised him. Her eyes ran over his lean face, his unkempt hair. "You look as though you could use shelter and clothing. Come home with me tonight. I shall give your genius to the world."
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1
defiant
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| adj.无礼的，挑战的 | |
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harried
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| v.使苦恼( harry的过去式和过去分词 )；不断烦扰；一再袭击；侵扰 | |
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tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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reminders
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| n.令人回忆起…的东西( reminder的名词复数 )；提醒…的东西；（告知该做某事的）通知单；提示信 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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6
ushers
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| n.引座员( usher的名词复数 )；招待员；门房；助理教员v.引，领，陪同( usher的第三人称单数 ) | |
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7
instigated
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| v.使（某事物）开始或发生，鼓动( instigate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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combative
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| adj.好战的；好斗的 | |
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antagonisms
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| 对抗，敌对( antagonism的名词复数 ) | |
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overture
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| n.前奏曲、序曲，提议，提案，初步交涉 | |
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11
relegated
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| v.使降级( relegate的过去式和过去分词 )；使降职；转移；把…归类 | |
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12
intruded
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| n.侵入的，推进的v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的过去式和过去分词 )；把…强加于 | |
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13
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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catered
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| 提供饮食及服务( cater的过去式和过去分词 )； 满足需要，适合 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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bland
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| adj.淡而无味的，温和的，无刺激性的 | |
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gauged
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| adj.校准的；标准的；量规的；量计的v.（用仪器）测量( gauge的过去式和过去分词 )；估计；计量；划分 | |
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20
flexed
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| adj.[医]曲折的，屈曲v.屈曲( flex的过去式和过去分词 )；弯曲；（为准备大干而）显示实力；摩拳擦掌 | |
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21
tantalizing
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| adj.逗人的；惹弄人的；撩人的；煽情的v.逗弄，引诱，折磨( tantalize的现在分词 ) | |
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aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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24
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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fervid
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| adj.热情的；炽热的 | |
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sonata
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| n.奏鸣曲 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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allegro
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| adj. 快速而活泼的；n.快板；adv.活泼地 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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exultantly
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| adv.狂欢地，欢欣鼓舞地 | |
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utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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32
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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33
throbbed
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| 抽痛( throb的过去式和过去分词 )； （心脏、脉搏等）跳动 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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luminous
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| adj.发光的，发亮的；光明的；明白易懂的；有启发的 | |
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36
vibrant
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| adj.震颤的，响亮的，充满活力的，精力充沛的，(色彩)鲜明的 | |
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37
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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38
sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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40
vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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41
munching
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的现在分词 ) | |
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